The Birthmark

by Beth Montgomery

  ‘The grip must have rotted away, but there’s still the metal underneath,’ Hector muttered. He looked at the narrow flat end where once there would have been leather strapping. There was a hole, and inscriptions etched down the side. ‘This is all that’s left of the hilt and see—Japanese writing.’ He tilted the blade and peered at the writing. ‘The chicken must have dug it up. Do you think it’s from the war?’

  ‘What?’ said Lily, frowning.

  ‘Maybe it’s from the war, you know, like the helmets and guns and things people sometimes find.’

  ‘Don’t be stupid. They didn’t have swords.’

  ‘Well how’d they cut people’s heads off? With a karate chop?’

  ‘Suh! I’ve never seen one before,’ she said.

  Hector held it gingerly, as if he feared it would leap up and cut off his own head.

  ‘So what have you seen?’ he asked, thinking of the keepsakes his grandfather had stored away: cartridges, a revolver and an old helmet. He also remembered the bomb that was unearthed near the primary school. He knew if you looked hard enough, there were World War Two relics everywhere on the island, just under the dirt beneath your feet.

  ‘I don’t think I’ve seen anything,’ she said.

  ‘Have you seen the beer bottles they used to drink from?’

  ‘No. Where?’

  Hector thought she sounded impressed. ‘Up at the bunker on the cliff at Baringa Bay.’

  ‘When did you go up there?’

  ‘In grade six, the teacher took our class up. I’ve been there a few times since.’

  ‘What’s up there?’

  ‘Just a bunker and a bath,’ he said, grinning at her.

  ‘A bath—bullshit!’

  ‘True, I’ll take you one day,’ he said. He held the blade up once more, admiring its curve. ‘It’s like new, it’s beautiful.’

  ‘I like it,’ Lily said.

  With those three words she’d evoked the local custom of pabwa. Three small words which obliged every Tevuan to pass on a possession to whoever admired it. He had to give it to her now. Without hesitation he handed her the sword.

  ‘It’s heavier than I thought,’ she said. ‘And it’s cold, so cold...’

  He watched her face as she held the sword. She smiled to herself, and Hector thought he saw her nod her head ever so slightly.

  ‘What are you going to do with it?’

  ‘Keep it,’ she said. ‘I need it for something.’

  Hector frowned. The sword would have been a great item to take home for his grandfather’s collection. What was Lily going to use it for? Chopping firewood? Never mind, he was sure he’d find other treasures on his trips through the forest. He bound the chicken’s legs together then pushed the remaining string into his pocket.

  ‘We’ll go up to the houses now and see what else we can find,’ he said.

  They picked their way through the forest, turning left at the small path which led up to Government Settlement. The first house they came to, a pale green bungalow surrounded by a low stone wall, was shaded by bean trees.

  ‘Whose house is this?’ Lily asked.

  ‘Some white guy who lives on his own.’ Cradling the chicken with difficulty, Hector climbed up onto the wall and beckoned Lily to follow. Her hesitation puzzled him. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘Someone’s there, I know it. I feel like the house is watching us.’

  ‘Don’t worry; there’s no one around at this time of day. He’ll be at work. Come on.’

  Lily hoisted herself onto the terrace using the sword to support her, and they crept around the outside of the house. They’d find something lying about, Hector thought. If not, there was always the wash house. People often left things behind in laundries: clothes, soap, plugs. If nothing else, you could always find pegs. As they rounded the front of the bungalow, the noise of an approaching car made them both duck.

  ‘Shit, Hector, police!’ Lily cried and she sped off around the back of the house.

  Hector swore to himself. Her fleeing would only draw attention to them. He peered over the top of the wall. Sure enough, there was a police car and it had slowed out the front of the house. He heard the car doors opening and the engine die all at once. Hector turned and sprinted around the back. Lily beckoned to him from the wash house door.

  As he reached the building he thudded against the half-closed door, and had to use both hands to force it open further. The chicken dropped to the ground and Hector stumbled over it. The bird squawked loudly and flapped about, struggling to free itself from its hobbles.

  ‘Shut it up!’ Lily hissed at him. ‘They’ll be on to us now, you idiot!’

  two

  Anbwido District

  30 August 1942

  On his way back from the leper camp Tepu saw Edouwe walking along the road towards him. Over her shoulders she carried a bunch of dry coconuts. Her smile broadened as he approached. Custom forbade them to talk openly without a chaperone, so she greeted him shyly.

  ‘You must get back to camp, Edouwe. It’s not safe on the roads with those devils on the island.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she nodded as they drew together. ‘But they won’t harm us, Tepu. The clinic doctor says the Japanese are frightened of lepers. They won’t come anywhere near our camp.’

  Tepu hoped she was right. She looked so confident; he envied her serenity. He didn’t trust them, not one bit. ‘Please promise me you’ll be careful,’ he pleaded.

  ‘Be on your way, Tepu. We’ve talked too long here.’ She lowered her gaze then moved on, leaving him staring after her, at the curves of her calf muscles and the sway of her hips.

  When she was out of sight Tepu turned and made for Anbwido. It was a small settlement to the west of the leper colony where a few Tevuans had made their home. One family had been generous enough to give Tepu’s family some land in exchange for labouring work his father had done. Now that his father had died, Tepu felt they were living on borrowed land and that they didn’t have a real home.

  Like many Gilbertese, Tepu’s family had come to Tevua to find work mining for phosphate. He’d forgotten almost everything of his life in the Gilberts, everything except the gifts from his grandfather: the black stone and a few words about magic.

  ‘You are a young shaman, boy. One day you’ll know the strength of the ancient magic,’ the old man had said to him. ‘If you have courage and wisdom, you will use it well. If you are selfish and fearful it will poison your mind.’

  He often wondered what his grandfather had meant. He knew the magic had something to do with the stone. He knew that some Gilbertese men had extraordinary powers and incredible strength, but the mystery of it all was never passed down to him. And now his family was fragmented and lost, there was no one he could ask to teach him these mysteries.

  Government Settlement

  Anbwido

  Friday 25 June 2004

  Laughter from the back of the house roused Christina from her book. There were people out in the yard. Were they the thieves her father had warned her about? She stiffened, listening to them talk in a language so alien to her own.

  She eased herself up from the couch and crept into the kitchen. Parting the curtains carefully, she looked down to the terrace. Streaks of black filth bled from each block of stone that formed the low wall. Christina guessed it had once been whitewashed and smooth, but now years of neglect and tropical rain had worn away at the structure, crumbling and dissolving it until the tangled jungle beyond would eventually devour it.

  Bodies were moving through the scrub on the other side. Christina could see the tops of their heads, the black sheen of their hair as they passed. Two figures snooping around, probably casing the place. Dad had said they often struck during the day, when no one was at home. She bit at her fingernails.

  She’d already spent the first five days of her three-week holiday hiding away inside. Soon she’d be flying back to Melbourne and all she’d done was read novels, watch DVDs, and try to smile when he
r father’s colleagues had dropped by for a drink, or they’d all gone out for dinner at the casino. Some holiday! Too many boring middle-aged men. She wished she were back in Mansfield, out horse-riding or paddock-bashing on her Mum’s block. Even chopping wood in freezing temperatures was preferable to sitting inside all day.

  Suddenly one of the figures, a boy, clambered onto the wall. He held a live chicken under one arm and called out to his companion, who joined him a moment later. She looked a few years older than him, heavier and not as agile. Christina noted her hair, raven black and pulled into a tight ponytail. Like the other islander women she had seen, this girl looked proud but there was something fierce about her, something about her manner that frightened Christina. And the strangest thing about the girl was that she carried a long blade, like a sword.

  The girl jumped down onto the terrace and looked about furtively.

  Christina shrank away from the window. She watched the pair walk down the length of the house but lost sight of them as they turned the corner. Who were they, just kids wandering around taking a shortcut, or were they really up to something bad?

  She heard a car approach, then the sound of it idling. It was too early for Dad to be home. Were these the accomplice thieves coming in cars to clean out the big things like the DVD player and the microwave? She ran to the front room and looked out. It was a police car, different from those in Australia, but unmistakably a police car with its blue lights on the roof. Christina froze. At the same time she heard someone running round the back.

  She raced back to the kitchen window and pulled the curtain aside. The girl was fleeing along the terrace and in her fear she looked up at the window. It was only a moment, but Christina knew she’d been seen. She also knew that the girl’s expression was more than fear. It was a warning: don’t tell the police or you’re dead, white girl! Without thinking, Christina signalled at her to head for the laundry.

  Footsteps on the front porch brought Christina’s attention back to the police. Their knock was tentative. She took a deep breath and walked to the door. Two overweight uniformed figures greeted her.

  ‘Please excuse us, Miss,’ the older one began, wiping sweat from his brow with a flick of his forefinger. ‘We’re looking for a boy and girl. We see them here, just now, in your yard,’ he said, smiling.

  ‘Yes, yes,’ Christina’s voice was squeaky. ‘I saw them too. They ran down the path at the back. They ran into the forest. I saw them,’ she lied.

  The older one looked almost pleased to have missed his quarry and Christina could imagine why. She envisaged him toddling down the hill, sweat spilling from his forehead, his bulging stomach wobbling as he ran.

  ‘Yes, down the hill, into the forest. There’s a track down there, you know.’

  The two officers exchanged glances, mumbled their thanks to Christina, then walked back up the path to their patrol car.

  She shut the door behind them and waited. After a few moments they drove off and Christina felt her shoulders drop with relief. She could breathe properly again.

  Should she go out to the laundry and see if the girl was there? Perhaps she’d snuck away when the police were at the front door. She took a deep breath and walked down the kitchen steps onto the terrace.

  The laundry stood away from the house at the edge of the yard. It reminded her of a ticketing booth or a food vendor’s box at a country show. The big open windows were extensions of the concrete bench and wash trough. The door was ajar.

  ‘Hello,’ she called meekly. ‘Hello, you can come out now. The police have gone.’

  Silence. The girl must have slipped away. Christina pushed the door open.

  ‘Ye-oow!’ The squeal came as the door bumped against a body. She saw the boy and girl crouched on the floor. The girl was huddled awkwardly under the bench. The boy, still clutching his captive chicken, rubbed at his foot and swore.

  ‘I’m sorry! I’ve hurt you. I didn’t mean…’ Christina spluttered.

  ‘You stupid arse—what a dumb place to sit down!’ shrieked the girl.

  ‘Suh, shut up, you witch! You look stupid, all twisted up like the plumbing.’ The two of them burst out laughing.

  Christina felt embarrassed; they were ignoring her with their laughter and shouting. ‘I’m sorry. I thought you’d be safe here. The police have gone,’ she said, louder this time.

  ‘And why’d they come? Did you tell them we were here?’ the boy snapped.

  ‘No!’ she said, staring at him, noting his features for the first time. His left eye was disfigured by a huge scar that ran down onto his cheek. It made his face appear lopsided. Thick black hair grew long over his brow, probably to hide the scar, she thought. ‘How could I tell them? You showed up the same time they did,’ she retorted.

  ‘What did you say to them?’ the girl asked as she crawled out from under the bench.

  Christina related her brief conversation with the police.

  ‘Don’t worry, they won’t come back,’ said the boy. ‘They’re too fat and lazy.’

  ‘I want to know who called them,’ the girl said.

  ‘Must have been the Chinese,’ the boy mumbled.

  ‘What have you done to have the police after you?’ Christina asked.

  ‘Nothing, we did nothing,’ the girl said, and her expression warned Christina not to pry further. The three of them looked at one another uneasily.

  Finally the boy spoke. ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Christina Lowry. My dad works for the Lands Department. I’m here on school holidays, to spend time with Dad.’

  ‘Where’s your mother?’ the girl asked.

  ‘She’s in Australia…my parents are divorced.’

  The girl nodded. She kept staring at Christina’s belly. Her gaze was unsettling. Hadn’t she seen a navel ring before?

  ‘I’m Hector, that’s Lily,’ said the boy. ‘We’re on holidays too, exploring the forest.’

  ‘You talk shit, Hector,’ Lily laughed.

  Christina grinned. It was obvious that Hector was used to telling tales. He smiled back at her and she relaxed. He was the first islander she’d met who had actually been friendly, in an offhand sort of way. Even the few times she’d been out, hardly any locals had spoken to her; and if they did, it seemed rude, the way they never really looked you in the eye. And they didn’t smile much, not like those friendly faces you see in travel brochures.

  ‘Do you want a drink or something?’ she asked. ‘I could get you some water.’

  ‘Yes, water,’ Hector said, and they followed Christina out into the sunshine on the terrace. Hector still hugged the chicken and Lily dragged the sword.

  Christina eyed it suspiciously. ‘Where did you get the sword?’ she asked.

  Lily nodded towards the forest. ‘Down there.’

  ‘We think it’s from the war,’ Hector said. ‘It’s got Japanese writing on it.’

  ‘Well it probably is. Dad says people are always finding World War Two artefacts on their land—unexploded bombs and things. I bet it’s pretty valuable.’

  ‘It’s mine,’ Lily pronounced, looking at her defiantly.

  Christina was startled by her tone. ‘I didn’t mean I wanted to buy it or anything,’ she said. ‘It’s just unreal to be surrounded by all these old things from the war.’

  Lily rolled her eyes. ‘It’s just our shit of an island, nothing special.’

  ‘Have you seen the pillboxes? There’s one near Lily’s house,’ Hector offered.

  ‘What…those concrete bunker things?

  Hector nodded.

  ‘Yeah, Dad told me the Japanese used to sit in them with their guns and look out for American ships. I’ve only seen them from the road.’

  ‘They’re not that great, Hector,’ Lily said. ‘Anything left there from the war was taken ages ago. People just get pissed on them now.’

  ‘Still, Christina might like to visit one—tourism on Tevua!’ he said, turning to the Australian.

  ‘Why so friendly,
Hector? Catching girls again, hey?’ said Lily.

  Christina smiled. Exploring a pillbox with these two would be better than lying on the couch all day watching the same old DVDs. At least she’d get some stories to tell her friends back in Mansfield.

  ‘How about tomorrow?’ he asked.

  ‘Sounds good,’ she said.

  ‘After lunch then,’ he said, checking that Lily agreed. Lily raised her eyebrows. She was busy drilling holes in the terrace floor with the point of the sword.

  ‘You’re not going to bring that sword, are you?’ Christina said.

  Lily snorted. ‘Nah, I’m going to hide it, until I need to use it,’ she said coldly, staring at the blade.

  Christina knew she wasn’t bluffing.

  three

  Anbwido District

  12 September 1942

  Tepu had only enough time to snatch a cooking pot and a knife before the marines entered his home. He fled into the forest behind his younger brother, Tarema, who was pulling their mother along behind him. She objected to leaving the house and wailed in fear. Tepu caught up with them and tried to silence her.

  ‘They’ll hear you and know exactly where we are,’ he hissed. But the marines had given up the chase. Their shouts and laughter rang through the forest and it made Tepu seethe.

  ‘We’ll make for Yamek,’ he said, knowing that some families had fled to the weather coast of the island already. It was an inhospitable place to the northeast of Tevua where the wind howled, the soil was poor and the water brackish, but its rocky outcrops and pinnacles offered some protection from the invaders. Also it was still within an hour’s walk of Baringa Bay and the leper camp, and Tepu didn’t want to be separated from Edouwe and her grandparents.

  Once they reached Yamek they set up camp amongst the coral pinnacles, using them as corner posts for their new home: a crude lean-to. Over the next few days Tepu used his knife to cut coconut leaves for a makeshift roof. Tarema searched the forest’s edge for firewood, and their mother gathered what seedpods and crabs she could find from the mangroves that grew in the salty ponds. Their nights were spent in quiet conversation, each of them consumed by fear and uncertainty.